


Before We Turn The Page (let’s wait awhile)

by isuilde



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, actually has a thing for each other but who knows if anyone’s going to make a move, awkward pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-28 04:45:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18203702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde/pseuds/isuilde
Summary: If a relationship is a new page in the book, then there has to be that one moment before you turn the page—the corner of it sitting lightly on your fingertips as you wonder what is going to happenafter.For Omi and Tsuzuru, these are those moments.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So. Tsuzuru pining over Omi embarrassingly while Omi, fully knowing that he likes Tsuzuru and Tsuzuru likes him back but doesn’t have the courage to actually be in a relationship, can’t help but flirt back is my jam. Sometimes I write things for this premise over on twitter, so might as well just archive them over here.
> 
> Written for self-satisfaction. If you’re reading it, I hope you’ll have fun!

When Tsuzuru fumbles with his cape, Omi chuckles and reaches out to smooth out the bottom part of the cape that got stuck in the folds of Tsuzuru’s toga. “There you go,” he says, takes a second to remind himself not to let his fingers linger on the bare slope of Tsuzuru’s shoulder. “The cape suits you.”

“Ah, thank you, Fushimi-san!” Tsuzuru cranes his head back, blinking at him for a moment and Omi watches his compliment sinks in as the younger man begins to make a face. “Please don’t make fun of me.”

A response much too expected, that Omi can’t not chuckle at it. “I wasn’t making fun of you,” he tilts his head, once again appraising Tsuzuru’s figure—the green cape, the flimsy folds of the toga, the bare shoulders and collarbones peeking out from the cape’s clasp, the wide expanse of Tsuzuru’s chest, only half-covered by the costume. “You look good.”

There is the barest hint of red lightly brushing Tsuzuru’s cheeks as he turns around and takes a step back, and Omi would be lying if the way Tsuzuru’s eyes taking in his own figure doesn’t send the butterflies in his stomach aflutter.

“Well, Fushimi-san’s also—“ Tsuzuru’s words patters into nothingness—and the idea of the storyteller, the one who orchestrates and plays with words the most among them, struggling to find something to say sort of warms Omi’s heart a little. “—this is unfair, your costume looks so much cooler.”

Omi laughs at the sulking tone underlining Tsuzuru’s words. “We’re pretty much wearing the same thing,” he points out, “well, minus the cape and the headpiece.”

“Yeah, but,” and Omi watches, almost transfixed, as Tsuzuru steps closer and reaches out, one curious finger breaching the rigid rule of personal space to poke on Omi’s exposed abs. Once, twice. Thrice. “Fushimi-san has very nice muscles. And a really nice figure that these tattoos really showcase.”

He opens his mouth, hesitates, because Tsuzuru is still poking his abs. “Um,” he says instead, the corner of his eyes catching the Director halting on her steps, as she stares at them, mouth open. “Tsuzuru—“

“And anyway,” Tsuzuru continues, because despite his self-consciousness of his surroundings, Omi knows that Tsuzuru can be an impulsive airhead sometimes. “You’re also good-looking, honestly, and your biceps are really nice too, but I can totally see why Yuki makes you a topless costume. It’s really hot.”

The Director’s cheeks are starting to turn very, very red. Omi thinks he should probably do something before she combusts with a nosebleed and they ended up getting yelled at by either Masumi or Sakyo-san. So he gently catches Tsuzuru’s finger and smiles, enjoys the way his own heart skips a beat at Tsuzuru’s startled look, and then raises a finger to poke on Tsuzuru’s bare collarbone.

“This is quite a temptation too, if I say so. 

It’s absolutely fascinating, the way Tsuzuru’s mouth opens halfway before he seems to realize what he’s been doing and what Omi had just said and—oh, that is a gorgeous shade of red spreading to the tips of his ears. Omi feels his own cheeks heat up, too, and he laughs it off as he lets go of Tsuzuru and takes a small step back, both hands raised up. “Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t tease you too much, huh?”

Tsuzuru closes his mouth, opens it again, but then covers it with a hand and just looks deathly embarrassed. “I am so sorry...”

It makes Omi warm all over—the quiet knowledge of what Tsuzuru most probably feel for him, or the thought that Tsuzuru couldn’t help himself to touch his body, or the thought that Tsuzuru doesn’t know that his feelings are answered. “It’s alright,” Omi assures him, swallows the rest of _since you’re so cute_ back, because he still can’t think that him being by Tsuzuru’s side will do Tsuzuru any good.

Old thoughts. Old habits. He still has not completely dealt with them.

But maybe someday, Omi thinks as he looks at this young man—red in the face with eyes still so young and bright with dreams to chase, this young man with so much stories to tell—maybe someday, when he can make peace and understood himself and themselves and the world better, he can find the courage to reach out.

Maybe someday, he’ll let himself reach for Tsuzuru to see what kind of stories they could weave together.

——-o0o——-


	2. 0322

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omi graduates.

There is a stray cherry blossom petal stuck in Omi’s hair, two centimeters off to the side of his right ear.

Tsuzuru isn’t sure why he is fixated on that, but he is. He tries not to, tries to look somewhere else that’s not the odd stray pink color lost among Omi’s dark strands, but somehow the tail of his gaze always brings him back to it. It makes his fingers itch.

“Congratulations on graduating, Omi-san.”

Juuza is the one who hands the bouquet of flowers into Omi’s arms. The corners of Omi’s eyes crinkle with the force of his grin, a shade of red high on his cheeks that’s just a bit deeper than the color of the petal stuck in his hair. Tsuzuru closes his fingers around the straps of his bag and clenches tight.

“Thank you, Juuza. For coming.” Gentle eyes turn from their junior to Tsuzuru—the petal momentarily hidden away from Tsuzuru’s eyes. “Tsuzuru, too.”

“Ah,” Tsuzuru says, inwardly telling himself not to take a step to Omi’s side and keep the stray petal in sight. “Congratulations, Fushimi-san. Finally the end of the road, huh?”

Omi chuckles. “Thank you. I doubt I’m any closer to the end of the road though.”

“Ahaha. At least you won’t have to attend classes and write reports anymore.” He takes that step just to the side, just enough to see that pink petal again, still stuck where it is the first time. “Where should we go to celebrate after this?”

“There is a new cake shop two blocks away towards the subway station—“ Tsuzuru doesn’t have to glance at Juuza to know that he’s perking up. Just as well, because oddly Tsuzuru’s eyes are completely glued to that little petal now. “Should we go there?”

“Uh, it’s your celebration, Omi-san.” Juuza is a good, considerate boy. “Doesn’t have to be sweets.”

“I do want to eat sweets though. What about you, Tsuzuru?”

“Petal,” Tsuzuru blurts out, because he really can’t anymore, and before he knows it he’s reaching out, fingers slipping into Omi’s slick hair (Azami’s fussed over Omi’s hair this morning, if Tsuzuru ruins it he’s not going to be forgiven), the tip of his finger grazing the petal for one split-second just as it falls away from his hand.

The spring breeze picks up, lifting the stray petal up-up-up into the air, along with a storm of cherry blossom petals riding the current almost like pink snowflakes, swirling over their heads before scattering somewhere else.

On his other side, Juuza sneezes.

Tsuzuru’s hand hangs uselessly over Omi’s shoulder, fingers curling around empty air by Omi’s ear now that the stray petal was flown away by the breeze. There’s a rush of loud thumping in his ears, in time to the one banging within his chest, and Tsuzuru feels the surge of heat rising up his cheeks.

“I’m sor—“

“Tsuzuru.”

A warm hand slips over his cheek, the touch light as fingers dance over his ear, and Tsuzuru forgets to breathe as Omi leans down, forehead inches away from touching his own. Their eyes meet, a split-second where the world freezes and Tsuzuru’s entire world narrows down into the bulk of Omi’s shoulder and the small expanse of blue sky he can see beyond it—

“You have a cherry blossom petal on your hair.”

—withdrawn fingers, and a tiny cherry blossom petal resting in-between Omi’s fingertips. Omi smiles, the one where it crinkles the corners of his lips and makes him look like he’s happiest in this world as he steps back, then presses a kiss against the tiny petal before letting the wind kidnaps it away, too.

 _Aah,_ Tsuzuru thinks, positive that his cheeks are aflame right now. _That’s unfair._

**——-o0o——-**


End file.
